mind unable to process the destruction. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
I walked into the rubble, my boots sinking into the mud. Near where the heavy wooden doors used to be, I
found a yellow stake driven into the ground. Attached to it was a laminated notice from a private demolition
company, signed and authorized by Richard Vance, President of the Oakridge Estates HOA. The notice
claimed the structure had been "condemned by the association" and removed for "community safety."
I called the police immediately. Two deputies arrived, took one look at the laminated notice, and sighed.
"It’s a civil matter," the older deputy said, adjusting his belt. "They claim they had authority. You claim they
didn't. We can't arrest a demolition crew for doing a job they were hired to do, and we can't arrest Vance
without a court order determining who actually had jurisdiction."
I was furious. "He destroyed my property! That's trespassing and vandalism!" But the police just filed a
report and left me standing in the ruins of my grandfather's legacy. The next morning, I was in my lawyer's
office. She was no longer laughing. Her face was pale with fury. "This is incredibly illegal," she said, pacing
the room. "It's called 'self-help eviction' or illegal demolition. We are going to sue Vance and the HOA into the
stone age."
But lawsuits take time. Vance knew this. When we filed the suit, his high-priced corporate attorneys fired